Witness
by mon-petit-pois
Summary: How much would things have changed if Eli David had seen what had been done to Ziva in Somalia? Somalia AU. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

_Warning: This story is not for the faint of heart. There are graphic descriptions of torture. Please do not read if you think this will offend you or if you are faint of heart. Thanks:)_

_..._

_September, 2009_

…

_My office, now._

Ilan Bodner frowned at the text he had just received. Eli was obviously pissed— that much was evident. The concise message, however, gave no hint of why the Director was so.

Surely he hadn't found out?

A minute later found Bodner knocking on the wooden door that led to Director David's office. He was immediately commanded to enter.

After he had shut the door behind him, Ilan looked directly into Eli's eyes, finding suspicion there.

"You are hiding something from me, Deputy Director Ilan."

Ilan frowned, "What would give you that idea, Director?"

Eli sighed and took his glasses off of his nose, standing from his desk chair and walking to stand in front of his right hand man. "I can tell. You are being secretive. You're… jumpy."

"With all do respect, I am not jumpy."

"Well, no, not by normal standards. However, for you, Ilan? Definitely jumpy," Eli reasoned. "So tell me, what are you hiding."

"There is nothing."

"Ilan, I have known you for decades. You cannot lie to me," Eli told him, shooting him a meaningful glare.

Ilan sighed in resignation. "Well, there is a small matter that you were not informed of," he amended.

Eli smirked. "Yes. And that would be?"

"We intercepted an email meant for you," Ilan informed him.

"I see. And what was so… special… about this email?"

The Deputy Director shifted uncomfortably. "There was a video file attached."

"And I was not shown this _why?"_ Eli shot back, trying to control his anger. "What was the video of?"

"You have to understand, Director, we did it for your own good, and for the good of the organization. It was classified as a psychological attack on our Director, so I made the call not to show it to you."

"That does not _answer my question!"_ Eli fumed, getting frustrated. "You tell me about this video or I find out myself."

Ilan ran a hand through his hair and exhaled long an hard. "It was of Ziva."

It took a second for the words to be comprehended in Eli's brain. _Ziva._ His daughter.

His daughter that was, for all intents and purposes, dead and decaying in the desert sun. His daughter that had been pronounced dead when she did not check in after she was last seen in Mogadishu. His daughter, who was assumed to have died fighting for her country.

"Of Ziva?" he asked, wondering if he'd heard wrong. "Is she alive?"

"She was in the video, but perhaps not now," Ilan told him.

"I want to see this video," Eli demanded, his eyes fierce.

Ilan took an involuntary step backwards. "No, you do not. It is best that you do not. Perhaps I can simply tell you what—"

"Ilan Bodner, so help me God, you will _play me this video. Now!"_

Eli, whom Ilan had always viewed as a father, was one of the few men who could intimidate him. He quickly turned and walked out of the office. He returned a minute later, armed with a flash drive. He went straight to the computer and brought up a video file.

When the video popped up, Eli's blood ran cold. Ilan pressed play.

An image of a man appeared on the screen.

"_Shalom, Director David. I would introduce myself, but I believe you know who I am. You tried to have me killed. No matter, however. Today I get my revenge. May I introduce Yasif?" _said the man that Eli knew to be Saleem Ulman. Ulman was joined in the shot by another man. "_He will be our… cameraman today. So are you ready to get started? I know I am."_

The man named Yasif took the camera from Ulman and filmed the latter as he walked down a dirty, dimly lit corridor. At the end of the corridor was a thick, wooden door that Ulman opened with ease. Now inside the room, the camera focused on a figure in the center of it. The person was lying on their back, sprawled out haphazardly on the concrete floor.

Eli heaved a heavy sigh when he realized it must be Ziva.

Yasif backed up into the corner of the cell so as to get a wide shot. Ulman was standing over Ziva. He delivered a quick blow to he side, eliciting a choked moan. He grabbed her by the hair on the back of her head and forced her onto her knees. He angled her head so that the camera had full view of her face.

The entire left side of her face was swollen and bloody and black and blue. Eli almost didn't recognize her.

It was her eyes that drew his attention, however, not the bruises and cuts and blood that covered her tattered clothing. Eli had never seen Ziva so empty. She seemed to lack that spark that made her who she was. Her gaze was one that Eli had seen before— the gaze of a broken prisoner waiting for the death they have resigned themselves to.

"_We're doing something a little different today, Miss David. This video is going to be sent to Daddy Dearest. He's going to watch us torture you, his only daughter. He's going to pay,"_ Ulman sneered at her.

Ziva laughed a cold, humorless laugh.

"_You are stupider than I thought if you think that this will bother him."_

"_Really?"_ Ulman responded, somewhat intrigued.

"_If you'd done your homework_," she spat, _"you would know that he doesn't give a fuck what happens to me. If he did I wouldn't be here."  
_

"_Nice try, bitch. We are going to torture you, and your father is going to watch. Nothing you say will fool us. Now, how about we get started, hmm?"_

With that, he grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it off of her before she could collapse. He then secured her wrists with manacles and hung her from a hook in the ceiling. From his belt he grabbed a whip.

"_You see this, Director David?"_ he asked, holding the instrument up to the camera. "_I designed this to be __**especially **__painful. You see these tiny hooks on the ends of the strands? When I whip her, they will tear away the skin from your daughter's back."_

Under his breath, Ulman commanded Yasif to make sure Ziva's face was clear in the shot.

Saleem's brutal assault on Ziva's back lasted nearly three minutes. She at first did not scream, but it was obvious even on video that her expression was one of extreme pain. It was not long before the moans became cries and the cries became screams. When he finally finished, Ziva's face was streaked with tears that mingled with the blood and fell away red. Yasif made sure to capture a few seconds of what Ziva's back looked like— bloody and mangled.

He unhooked her limp body and brought her none-too-gently to the ground. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the pain and brutality of it all. They laid her on her stomach, and she made no move to switch positions.

Saleem caught a metal object that was thrown to him by Yasif. He knelt down next to Ziva's broken form and waved it in her face.

"_See this? I'm going to pour in on your wounds now. We wouldn't want them becoming infected now, would we?"_ he sneered sadistically, looking up to make sure the camera clearly could see what he held— a flask.

The screams that followed reverberated off of the walls of the cell and echoed inside of Eli's already tortured head long after they had been replaced by mere heavy panting and an occasional whimper.

Saleem was still not satisfied.

"_Hmm. Maybe we should show your father what else we like to do, yes? Ziva, what do you think? Should I show your abba what shameful things you do to me and my men?_

Ziva's eyes snapped shut, as if it could block out all of the pain and what was undoubtedly to come.

"_No," _she whimpered softly, "_Please, __**no**__."_

Saleem reached down and turned her over onto her back. She stifled a moan.

"_It was a rhetorical question. I'm doing it either way."_

Her pants were suddenly no longer covering her lower half. She was completely naked, lying helplessly under him on the floor. She gritted her teeth as Saleem began his routine violation of her.

What hurt Eli the most was the look in Ziva's eyes as it happened. She was resigned to this. It had happened so much that it was almost like she couldn't be bothered to care.

Saleem soon invited Yasif the cameraman to join him. The latter placed the video camera on the floor next to Ziva's head.

Ziva then looked directly in the lens as a lone tear leaked out of her eye and landed on the dirty concrete below her.

"_Please, Abba," _she whispered in Hebrew, her voice hoarse and barely audible, "_have mercy."_

It was in that moment that Eli David felt the heart that he had so carefully hidden shatter into a million pieces. He shut his eyes, focusing all of his energy on keeping his eyes dry. He could not cry.

In the end, it was a losing battle, and his eyes teared up.

In the video, the men had finished their violation of his daughter. Yasif picked up the camera once again as Ulman fastened his pants. Immediately after, he grabbed the back of Ziva's head again and hoisted her naked frame up onto her knees. The camera focused on her bloody, bruised, and tear-stained face.

"_Any last words to say to your father?" _he questioned, his tone mocking and malicious.

At first, Eli thought that Ziva would stay silent. But he managed to make out her last words, spoken in her native tongue, before the screen went black.

"_I failed, Abba. I am sorry."_

There was shocked silence, at first, which was broken not too long later by the shattering of a ceramic pencil-holder against the wall. Many of the other objects on Eli's desk joined it, victims of Eli's bloodlust and fury and unbelievable grief and sadness.

"How _dare you?!_" Eli roared at Ilan. "How _dare you_ keep this from me! She is probably dead now! I'm sure they've killed her. If you had showed this to me earlier perhaps it would not have been too late! We could have saved her!"

"With all due respect, Eli, this is precisely why I did not show it to you. You act rashly. We could not afford for you to waste valuable resources on a rescue mission to an unknown location to rescue an operative that was most likely already dead! You don't know when they shot that video, Eli! I could have been weeks or _months_ before we received it! Mossad cannot afford to waste resources."

Eli knew Ilan was right, but that did not make him any less angry. He ran his hands down his face and bellowed in anger again, punching the wall this time.

He wished he hadn't seen the video. He could have carried on thinking that his last child died a quick, painless death. Perhaps a bullet to the heart or head? Instantaneous death. She, like Tali and Ari, would not have known what hit her. But this video? It took away his ability to bury his grief. It gave him hope that she might be still alive— he did not know what to do with this hope if he could not act upon it and try to save her.

It was so much easier before, when he had only _mildly suspected_ she would be tortured. He had, of course, mainly believed what he wanted to hear: that her death was quick and painless. He had suspected that perhaps she was tortured, but suspecting something and watching graphic videos of it occurring were two different things.

Witnessing his daughter's torture was something that he couldn't bury.

"I am going to America," Eli decided.

Ilan frowned. "What for?"

"I want to pay a social visit to my friends there. Leon and I also have some bureaucratic issues to sort out together that must be done face to face," Eli responded.

"Okay, that's the public reason. And the real, legitimate, off the books reason?" Ilan prompted.

"Ziva could still be alive. I failed her before, I will not do it again. If she is still alive, I am going to make sure that she is found."

"What does Leon Vance have to do with this?"

"My daughter was—_is—_loved dearly by many people in America. If Mossad cannot send a rescue mission, perhaps NCIS can. I will provide them with all of the information we have on Saleem Ulman's camp and aid them in any way I can."

Ilan smirked. "And there's nothing I can do to stop you?"

"No," Eli replied, determination set in his eyes.

"I'll have your flight information and protection detail readied within the hour."

…

_The next morning_

"Shalom, Leon," Eli greeted over the phone.

"_Eli. Shalom,"_ Vance said.

"I have just landed in D.C. There is a matter we need to discuss," the Mossad Director informed him.

"_Word travels fast,_" Leon mused.

"Sorry?"

"_Never mind."_

"I am on the way to the Navy Yard. Can I expect to find you in your office?" Eli asked, "It is an urgent matter. It is about Ziva."

"_I know. I figured. I am actually at the hospital right now._"

"The hospital? Are you okay? Is it Jackie? One of the kids?"

"_I'm beginning to think that we're not on the same page here Eli."_

"I do not know what is going on, Leon. I am here because Ziva's in trouble and I need your help. Off the books," Eli tried to explain. There was a small pause on the other end.

"_Eli? Hang on. Let me put someone else on for you,"_ Leon said. It was only a few seconds later that a different voice filtered through Eli's cell phone.

"_Hello?"_

Eli's newly-exposed broken heart felt a _pang_ at the voice. It was rough and thirsty and hoarse from screaming, but he recognized it immediately. The phone almost slid through his fingertips.

"**Ziva**!"he exclaimed, his voice almost getting stuck in his throat. It was a cross between a celebratory yell and a disbelieving cry. The relief was so great that there was a noise made in the back of his throat that could only be classified as a whimper.

"_Abba? Is that you?"_ she asked, her disbelief also evident in her tone.

"Yes. Yes, it is me. Your _abba _is here, Ziva. I'm here."

A/N: Please leave a review! I'm sorry about the graphic part, but I felt that it was necessary for the story. Also, I hope that you understand that Eli is actually not supposed to be OOC. I truly think, especially after watching Shabbat Shalom, that Eli would have reacted similarly to this if he had seen such a video of his daughter. It is one thing to know that she was being tortured; it's another entirely to physically see it, to hear her begging. This is pretty much a "what if" story.

Hoping that you enjoyed it! More soon, hopefully!


	2. Chapter 2

Ziva tugged on the hospital gown, fidgeting in the bed uncomfortably. After three months of sleeping on a dirty concrete floor, the hospital bed that she usually found to be terribly hard was now unbearably soft. The IV in her arm that was giving her the nutrition that she so clearly needed— as evidenced by the prominence of her ribs showing through her scarred skin—made her arm itch and sting, which was silly considering that the things she had endured in the past three months should dwarf a needle in her arm.

"Somethin' bothering you, Ziver?"

Ziva smiled at the nickname, something that she had, twenty-four hours ago, been certain she would never hear again. "I am fine, Gibbs," she assured the man in the plastic chair by the window. A shiver radiated through her body as she said it, though, tipping Gibbs off to at least one thing he could fix.

"DiNozzo, find her a blanket," he ordered. Tony, who had been standing silently in the corner for the past two hours— because, really, there were so many elephants in the room at the moment that he didn't even know where to begin with talking to her—gave an almost obedient nod and slipped from the room. He was back a minute later, blanket in hand.

As he wrapped the soft fabric around her body gingerly, she realized that she really _had_ been quite cold. She savored the tenderness of his actions as he tucked her in like a child, welcoming friendly contact after so many months of heavy fists and groping fingers.

"Thank you," she told him, her voice hoarse and barely audible. His responding smile made her wonder how she ever could have been so mad at a such a gentle man who obviously cared for her so.

The door opened and Ziva looked up from her twiddling thumbs, expecting to see Abby or McGee or Ducky. She was not expecting it to be Vance that entered, and most _definitely_ did not expect him to hand her his cell phone and utter the words _it's for you._

For her? Everyone she cared about was either in this room or in the hospital cafeteria.

"Hello?" she questioned, inwardly scowling at her scratchy and weak voice.

"_Ziva!?" _

To say she was stunned would be an understatement. Was that her father's voice? Truly? He sounded so… relieved, happy even. He sounded as if he was suddenly on the verge of tears.

"Abba? Is that you?" she asked, unable to keep her disbelief from her voice. For him to call her was shocking enough, but the way in which he said her name held reverence and emotions that Ziva was not used to hearing him associate with her name.

Then Ziva suddenly remembered the video, and shame colored her cheeks red. He must have seen it. Would he really care that much? Was he actually affected by that video, even after he had sent her off to such torment in the first place?

"_Yes. Yes, it is me. Your __abba __is here, Ziva. I'm here,_" came his voice.

Instantaneously, Ziva was filled with anger. Yes, he was there, now that she was rescued— by NCIS. He had not even tried to be there for her before now, not when she really needed it. Where was he while she was being tortured?

"What is it you need, Director?" she asked, her voice cold and unforgiving. She heard a soft hiss from his side of the phone.

"_Please, there is no need for such formalities. Where are you, Zivaleh? Leon told me a hospital. What has happened? Why was Mossad not informed of your rescue?"_ Eli rattles off questions.

Ziva frowned. "Mossad does not know I am alive?"

"_I just found out myself! Surely you have not been back in the States for too long."_

"NCIS rescued me yesterday. I have only been at the hospital since early this morning," she responded, careful to keep all emotion from her voice like always when talking with her father.

"_Which hospital?_"

"Why should it matter to you?" she shot back at him.

"_I am here, Ziva, in the States. I arrived an hour ago,"_ Eli told her.

"Maybe I do not want to see you," she replied, venom in her tone. She heard Eli's sharp intake of breath.

"_Please. We have so much to talk about. Let me see you. I need… I need to see you, my Ziva."_ Was it her imagination, or did his voice just _crack?_

Ziva sighed, knowing he was right. There _was_ much to discuss. "Bethesda. Room 113," she replied curtly, before hanging up. Her father had left her to die in a desert, even after he had seen with his own two eyes his daughter being tortured, _raped_. A month and a half had gone by since he must have been sent that video, and yet he did not make one move to save her.

Oh yes, they had much to talk about indeed.

She handed the phone back to the director, trying her hardest to keep her hand from trembling. Gibbs, Tony, and the Director were all looking at her inquisitively, as they had been unable to understand the Hebrew conversation.

"My father is coming," she told them, her voice flat and monotonous.

"He's here? In D.C.?" Tony asked, shooting the Director an annoyed look.

"Don't look at me, DiNozzo, I just found out myself. Seems it was all pretty last minute. I'm not sure why he's here."

"He did not know I had been rescued," Ziva told them, her voice soft.

"So why's he here?" Gibbs questioned.

Ziva shook her head. "He did not say."

The room fell into a pensive silence, respecting the fact that Ziva needed to collect her thoughts. Vance slipped out of the room immediately.

It was ten minutes later that Ziva heard the door open once again. She braced herself before looking up to greet her father.

Eli stood in the doorway, taking in the sight before him. His eyes were wild, so opposite of the composed, calm look they usually held. His normally indifferent expression was anything but— he absorbed he scene in the hospital room with a face that looked anything but complacent.

He studied his daughter from the doorway for a minute. She laid prone on the bed, swathed in blankets that seemed to swallow her petite form whole. She had always been small, but it was obvious by her sunken cheekbones and prominent collarbone that she was extremely underweight. Bruises littered her face and if he focused on her neck he could see the finger-shaped bruises wrapping their way around it. Little nicks and cuts peppered her visible skin, and Eli knew without a doubt that they could also be found in many other places, perhaps much deeper and wounding. An IV line snaked into the blankets where, though he could not see it, he knew it connected to her arm.

Her eyes were what held his attention and drew him forward. They were not the eyes from the video, those eyes that had been so void of emotion, of hope, of feeling, of life. No, her eyes held something very different indeed— anger, betrayal, sadness, disbelief. He took step after step towards her until he stood directly at her bedside. He restrained himself from taking her hand; she would not welcome it and besides, it was buried in the blankets. A part of his mind registered Gibbs and Agent DiNozzo leave the room, but his main focus was on his daughter, who was currently lying broken and small in a hospital bed. It was a few minutes before either of them dared to speak.

"Why did you come?" The shakiness and scratchiness of her voice made a part of him—the paternal part—cry out once again with sadness.

"I needed to see you. I needed to… apologize," he admitted, his voice low. Apologies came about as easy to him as they did to Gibbs.

To his surprise, she laughed. It was a humorless, barking laugh, however, and it held no good sentiment. "My father has never once apologized to me."

"There is a first time for everything," he insisted.

"And what makes this time any different?" she questioned.

Eli did not answer. He did not have a response, not a good one anyway. It was quiet for a moment.

"I did not mean why are you here at Bethesda," she clarified, "I meant why are you here in D.C. if you had not heard of my resuce?"

Eli did not reply immediately. "I watched the video," he finally her, deciding that it was best she knew.

An unreadable emotion flitted across her eyes, only to be hidden a moment later. Her walls were up, and for a good reason. "I assumed so."

"I wish I had not," he told her.

Ziva's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Of course. You would not want to have to face what you did. You would not want to see the consequences of your actions— of sending me off to die. You would not want to face what you did."

"Ziva—"

"No. It obviously did not affect you that much anyhow. I _begged you,_ my _father_, for mercy, for salvation, but you went, what, a month and a half without doing anything about it? "

"A month and a half? I only saw that video yesterday!" he protested.

Ziva looked genuinely surprised. "Really?" She did not dare to hope about what this might mean. She had assumed he had watched the video months ago and written it off. She had, when a Mossad rescue team never showed up, assumed that he had simply forsaken her, despite having seen what he saw in that tape.

"I knew Ilan kept it, but for six weeks?" Eli muttered to himself.

"Ilan?"

"Yes. He intercepted the email and did not tell me about it. He said he believed that if I saw it I would act _rashly_ and waste precious Mossad resources."

Despite her attempts to squash it, hope insisted on blossoming in her chest. "So you… You did not…" she trailed off, unable to find the words to express what she was feeling. Eli reached down and untangled her arms from the blankets, taking her small hand in both of his.

"Ziva, I have made many mistakes. Sending you on that mission, knowing that you might not return, was one of them. But please, believe me when I tell you that if I had seen that video when it was sent to me I would have done everything in my power to get you out of there alive."

"What about now, though? You saw the video yesterday. Did you not do everything in your power to try to find me then? Why are you here if you did not know I was rescued already?" she interrogated, eager for answers.

Eli sighed. "I came because I knew Ilan was right. Mossad cannot afford to send an extraction team to Somalia off the hunch that you were still alive and in the same place. So I… I figured that if Mossad could not help you, perhaps your loved ones at NCIS could. I came today fully prepared to aid NCIS with an extraction mission, only to find that your team was one step ahead of me. I did not forsake you, Ziva, please believe me."

Now Eli was the one begging, and Ziva wanted so badly to forgive him. However, everything else he had ever done wrong by her and her family echoed in her mind. "I believe you. But Abba… just because you made an attempt to save me does not right all of the things you have done. It is your fault Ari is dead. You made him like he was, and you commanded me to _kill_ him, my own _brother._ You raised me to be a cold-hearted killer. You are controlling and self-centered. What makes you think I can forgive you now?" she questioned, her voice challenging him to give her _one good reason._

"Please, Ziva, I know I have done many things wrong. We can discuss them to whatever lengths you wish. But _please,_ my daughter… Do not write me off. Let me try to redeem myself. Let me try," he insisted.

"_How?"_ she demanded.

"Just let me be your Abba. Drop the masks, let down your walls. Let me in, Zivaleh, and let me show you that I can be good."

"I do not know how to do that," she admitted.

"Let me hold you," he urged her, "like I used to do when you were small."

Ziva nodded. That she could do. She scooted over on the narrow bed, holding in a hiss of pain as her broken rib jostled.

Eli slid onto the bed next to her, and Ziva slowly, gently, leaned into him like she hadn't done since she was in elementary school. She coaxed her walls down, relaxing into his chest as he wrapped his arms gently around her bruised torso. He placed a kiss in her hair.

"Just relax, my baby. Your Abba is here now. I will not abandon you again," he told her, his voice soothing. Ziva's lower lip trembled, but she held the tears back. After years of steeling herself in front of her father, putting up a façade, she didn't know how to drop her guard for him.

"It is okay. _Ken,_ relax. You can let go."

A tear dribbled down her cheek, followed by another, and another. Soon uncontrollable sobs were wracking her body, and she was too far gone to care that her father was witnessing her meltdown.

He stroked her hair. "_Ani ohev otach. At lo levad. _Your _abba_ is here."

A/N: Hope you liked it! Sorry, couldn't resist throwing at lo levad in there. I hope Eli doesn't seem _too_ OOC. I got sick of reading bad-Eli and desperately wanted one where he was repentant, like in Shabbat Shalom (only minus the murdering of that one guy, and where his intentions where really purely focused on just Ziva and not some Iranian guy).

Thanks to **Liraeyn, Angelhaggis, Tivagirl,** and **WritingFromTheSoul **for the reviews!


	3. Chapter 3

Ziva had no clue how long she laid in her father's arms, and frankly, it did not matter to her. What she _did_ know is that she felt his love for the first time in such a pitifully long time. She did not yet forgive him for what he had done, there was still much to be addressed, but for now she was content to pretend as though there was nothing wrong. After so many months of constant fear and worry and utter _depression_ over the botched relationships in her life, it was nice to be able to let her mind go blank. She focused on how it felt to have her father show that he loved her— really, truly loved her, as a father should—and let herself drop her walls and masks. She allowed herself to, if only for a little while, be her father's little girl again.

When the door creaked open, both Ziva and Eli looked up to find Gibbs standing in the doorway, trademark cup of coffee in hand. He raised his eyebrows at Ziva, who heard the unspoken question.

_Later,_ she mouthed to him. He gave a discreet nod.

"Doctors say you can leave tonight," he told her.

Her smile was small but genuine. "Good. I hate hospitals."

"Good to know some things never change. You said the same thing when you broke your arm when you were twelve. Do you remember that?"

"I remember," she replied, her voice soft. Memories of a better time floated behind her eyes, memories of a time when Ari was simply her older brother and Tali was still pronouncing her name _Zeeba; _memories of a time when her mother was alive and when she trusted her father unconditionally.

Oh, how times had changed. Never had she expected her brother to fall dead at her own hands, for her innocent little sister to be blown to smithereens, for her mother to be ripped from her while she was away in the IDF… Never had she expected the father that she looked up to so much to be the one who signed the orders that were to be her death sentence.

Of course, she also didn't expect to end up finding a family in an American federal investigation agency. The unpredictability of her life made her wonder where exactly she would be in five years.

_Five years?_ she questioned, frowning inwardly, _Ziva, you don't even know where you'll be __**tonight.**_

"I have an extra room, Ziver, it's yours if you want it," Gibbs told her. Ziva was beginning to think Abby was onto something when she spoke of Gibbs's ESP.

She pondered his words carefully, but in the end went with what her gut was screaming at her to do. "Vance had NCIS book a room for me at the Navy Lodge. Thank you anyhow," she politely declined. No, it was too soon. She needed time to think, time _away_ from these people who had rescued her. They had gone out of their way to _avenge_— not even rescue, _avenge,_ which meant so much more to Ziva—the death of a woman who had done nothing but hurt them. It had been Tony's idea, she'd been told. _Tony,_ kind-hearted, protective Tony, who was the one she hurt the most. She needed to be away from them for a while. She needed to collect her thoughts.

Gibbs nodded in acceptance. He hadn't really expected her to say yes, but he wanted her to know that it would always be an option. "I'm gonna run home then, change into some new clothes, take a shower. DiNozzo's here if you need him, and Tim should be back in an hour or so." Behind him appeared a nurse, and he stepped aside in the doorway to let her in. "I won't be too much longer," he assured her. Despite the fact that Ziva and Eli seemed to be on good enough terms, he still felt uncomfortable leaving her alone with him.

When Gibbs disappeared from the doorway, the nurse approached Ziva. She began asking her questions, such as _how are you feeling_ and _how much pain are you in._

Her walls shot back up.

No matter what he did, Ziva didn't think she would ever be able to admit pain in front of her father. He raised her better than this. He did not raise her to be a sniveling crybaby. So she showed no pain, gave no indication of the fact that she ached _everywhere_. She most _definitely _was not going to admit to the fact that this pain was highly concentrated in the region between her legs.

No father needed to hear that. It was bad enough that he had _watched_ those men preform such vile acts already.

It took a second before that really sunk in. She had thought about it before, yes, especially while the video was being made. But now, with her father holding her, it seemed so much more real. Her father had watched a video, had seen the graphic details of her routine defilation.

"Zivaleh? You are shaking. Tell me what is wrong," he urged her. Ziva, who hadn't even noticed the nurse leave, looked up at him. It only took one glimpse at his face for her to scoot away from him and pull her legs into her chest. It was a familiar position of self-protection.

It took her a minute to reply. "Did you watch the whole video?" she asked, her voice small and weak. He had to strain to hear her words.

"_Ken,_" he replied, "I hated every minute of it."

Ziva laid her head on her forearms, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. Eli picked up on this.

"You are ashamed," he observed.

She was silent a moment before replying. "You could not understand," she muttered.

Eli shrugged. "Perhaps I cannot."

The subject was dropped.

…

Gibbs returned a few hours later and found Eli in the plastic chair he himself had previously sat in. Ziva lay on the bed, half asleep.

"Ziver," he called out gently.

Her eyes snapped open instantaneously. "Hi," she greeted, a small smile gracing her lips.

"Brought you some clothes. Not the best looking, and it'll be too big, but I figured it's better than a hospital gown," he told her, setting a pair of grey sweatpants and a USMC sweatshirt at the foot of the bed.

"I have clothing—" she began to object, but he interrupted.

"No way I'm lettin' you get back into those filthy rags, David," he insisted.

Ziva couldn't deny that knowing how much he cared made her smile. "Thank you."

"Anytime. Doctors told me they can release you now, if you want."

"What time is it?"

"1930. I'll drive you to the Navy Lodge," Gibbs told her. Something in his voice told her it was not an offer.

"Wait," Eli interjected. "Ziva, Mossad has booked a large hotel room for me for the week at the Adam's House. If you want you can stay with me, just until I leave. I cannot be here forever, and I want the chance to… talk about some things."

"Abba…" she trailed off, unsure of how to respond.

"Just say yes, Zivaleh, I am sure the Adam's House is nicer than the Navy Lodge," he insisted.

"I… I do not know…"

"_Bevakasha._ I will only be here for a little while, and I want to make the most of it. I do not want you to be a stranger, Zivaleh. I am not expecting you to let me back into your life, but… At least let this be the first step toward repairing this relationship?"

Ziva sighed in resignation. "Alright, I will stay with you," she told him. He gave her a small pleased smile, and she felt her heart skip a beat. To see him smiling at her, like she has made him happy… It was so rare. At one point in her life, it had been what kept her going— pleasing her father was her goal.

Now it seemed that simply granting him permission to be close to her could make him proud and happy, and Ziva didn't know what to make of it.

A/N: I hope this was somewhat satisfactory. I know I said it would be a two-shot but I felt it needed to be added upon. There will most likely be one more chapter.

Thanks so much to **Liraeyn, Tivagirl, LauraMaeH94, Angelhaggis, Nahau Moondust, **and **Mechabeira** for the great reviews!


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